Page 27 of Jetmir

Floral arrangements—white orchids and deep red roses—stood like carefully placed warnings along the perimeter of the room. Music drifted from somewhere unseen, a string quartet softened by distance, elegant enough to disguise the tension woven through the space.

My heels clicked against the floor as we moved deeper inside, the sound quickly swallowed by the sheer scale of the room.

Papa and Mama were soon swallowed into conversations, and so were Gabriel and Amara. Anyone who was anything was here. Papa’s old associates and friends. Amara’s entire family—all sides. Jetmir’s twin sister.

But one person was noticeably absent, and with each passing second, I began to relax.

Still, I steeled myself, holding my breath and praying that somehow, Jetmir and I wouldn’t run into each other. I sipped champagne, greeted old acquaintances, and smiled like my being here alone was the most natural thing in the world.

It wasn’t. In our world, marriage was for life. Yet another rule I seemingly broke.

Waiters glided between clusters of guests with trays of crystal flutes, their movements practiced, like they had learned long ago that interruptions amidst mobster families were dangerous.

Everything was beautiful but cold, calculated.

This wasn’t just a party. It was a tentative bridge-building exercise between Amara’s complicated family and the Santoses. After years of bad blood between our families—caused by Jetmir and me—we were finally at the point of a fragile truce now that Jetmir had agreed on the annulment.

I hadn’t seen him since I left him and ran back to my family after the havoc we caused, and a deep part of me was terrified to see him again. But considering Amara’s connections to Jetmir, I knew it would be inevitable to eventually see my husband.

Pardon… ex-husband.

Maybe one day I’d be ready to see him. My heart wouldn’t flutter and my body wouldn’t react. It just wouldn’t be today, so I was thankful he didn’t show.

Leaning against the wall, I watched the evening unfold around me.

Tight smiles. Whispered gossip. Laughter.

God knew that mobsters were the best actors, hiding their true feelings behind blank masks. Like my father who was shaking hands with Liana Volkov, Jetmir’s mother, and pretending he was okay to be in her company when in fact he was tense as fuck. He wanted to kill all the Volkovs, then bring them back to life, only to do it again.

My mom was softer though. She was cautiously happy, and as my papa moved on to talk to someone else, she stayed behind with Jetmir’s mother.

Liana Volkov was an enigma. The whispers in the criminal world said she’d been to hell and back. She was a dangerous woman who could hold her own, but she loved her children. She would kill everyone in this room without blinking an eye if it meant protecting them.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JETMIR

Ishouldn’t have come, and I told myself that I didn’t want to—a bold-faced lie—the entire drive to downtown.

The moment I handed my keys to the valet, my mother appeared at the entrance of the Waldorf.

“Hello, Mother.” I fixed my cufflinks as I walked over to greet her. I bent my head and kissed her offered cheek. “Why are you out here?”

She smiled tightly. “I was waiting for you.”

“Well, here I am. Shall we go in?” I offered my arm and she took it, but she didn’t move. “Or do you prefer we just stand out here?”

She sighed, her eyes boring into mine. “Jetmir, I wish you would… talk to me.”

“I am talking to you,” I answered nonchalantly. “Right now, in fact.”

“You know what I mean,” she retorted dryly, then tilted her head. “Don’t think I don’t know about your”—she glanced around—“recent foray into real estate. You’re up to something.”

“I’m never up to anything,” I drawled, resuming my steps. She followed, her arm still tucked in mine.

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose with her free hand. “Fine. Keep your secrets. But know that I’m on your side. Always. And… should you need a place to land, there’s our home in Russia⁠—”

“Anya hates the cold.” Fuck, where did that come from? Damn it, my mother had a way of dragging shit out of me.